


Together

by flaming_muse



Category: Glee
Genre: Episode Related, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-11-10
Updated: 2011-11-10
Packaged: 2017-10-25 22:18:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,159
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/275433
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flaming_muse/pseuds/flaming_muse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kurt and Blaine, together.</p><p>episode tag for 3x05 ("The First Time")</p>
            </blockquote>





	Together

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Deutsch available: [Together](https://archiveofourown.org/works/9873209) by [Klaineship](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Klaineship/pseuds/Klaineship)



Kurt inspects himself in the guest bathroom mirror one last time. He’s managed to put his hair back into some semblance of order compared to the disaster it was when he came in here, but it’s still far from perfect. The swoop he’d spent so much time getting right this morning is a thing of the past, and his hair keeps falling onto his forehead after he pushes it back. There’s a bit of a cow-lick going at the crown of his head that water alone can only do so much to tame. He looks younger like this, he thinks, and more vulnerable than usual. He can handle the vulnerability, since it’s Blaine who will see him, but he definitely doesn’t feel young. Not tonight.

He runs his fingers through his hair again and shivers at the sudden sense memory of Blaine doing the same thing so tenderly just minutes ago, their bodies tangled together, warm and sated in the nest of Blaine’s bedding, and he immediately drops his hand to the edge of the sink to rest on the cool porcelain. He doesn’t need to do anything more to his hair. He doesn’t want to. He wasn’t going to walk around looking like he stuck his finger in a light socket, but it feels wrong to put himself back together with a perfect polish, like he’s trying to erase the memory of the past few hours.

He _never_ wants to erase those hours.

So his hair is passable if tousled, the chapping of his lips is soothed by another pass of his shea butter lip balm before he tucks it back in the pocket of his bag, and his vest and boots are fine where he’s left them in Blaine’s room. The rumbling of Blaine’s stomach and the necessity of cleaning up might have forced them from his bed, but Kurt’s not ready to pull back on all of the trappings of the Kurt he is to the outside world. If he’s honest, it would hurt to do it right now. He’s not ready to lose the connection they’ve built between them.

Turning to go, he brushes a bit of lint off of his shirt and flashes on what it had felt like when Blaine’s mouth had been right there, kissing along Kurt’s ribs with his eyes shut tight like he was trying to memorize every inch of Kurt’s body by touch alone, and he feels his skin flush hot. He’s long been a martyr to the memory of each kiss and caress from Blaine, feeling them like ghosts for hours afterward, but it’s never been as intense as the shiver-inducing drag of Blaine’s lips he can replay just by touching his shirt over the very same spot.

“Well, this could be inconvenient when I’m trying to get dressed in the mornings,” Kurt mutters to himself, but he’s smiling as he drops his bag back in Blaine’s room. He takes in the sight of Blaine’s rumpled bed and swallows back the nerves and feverish heat that flow through him. He’ll never be able to sit on it again without the knowledge of what Blaine’s warm golden skin looks like against his sheets, what those very sheets feel like against Kurt’s own body.

“Great, and I’ll be too distracted to get any homework done here ever again.” And yet Kurt’s still smiling, and he touches the edge of Blaine’s comforter with the tips of his fingers before he pads downstairs, his bare feet quiet on the thick carpet runner that leads down the staircase.

He finds Blaine in the kitchen, as promised. Blaine’s standing in front of the open refrigerator, the cool white light streaming from it sharpening the lines of his body. Leaning in the doorway, Kurt takes a moment to look, though now he’s been able to do far more. Now he’s been able to taste the shadows of Blaine’s collarbones peeking out from beneath his tank top. Now he’s been able to fit his hands perfectly to those slim hips hidden and yet accentuated by his pants. Now he’s been able to feel the brush of the hair on Blaine’s strong thighs against his own.

Kurt knows so much more about Blaine than he did a few hours ago, and yet it’s still a joy just to look at him, to drink in his strong profile and messy mop of hair, to admire the muscles of his arms and the breadth of his shoulders, to dote over his bare ankles and feet. It’s Blaine. It’s all Blaine. And he’s Kurt’s. Now more than ever.

Blaine glances over and notices him, and he smiles wide and fast for a second before something else flashes across his face so quickly that Kurt can’t identify it. Apprehension, maybe. Or concern. Something besides the breathtaking warmth of his love that has been burning in his eyes all night, though that’s there, too.

“Hey,” Blaine says, his eyes flicking over Kurt from head to toe, and Kurt wonders if he should have done his hair after all. Blaine closes the door to the refrigerator and stands there, just watching Kurt. “Are you - “ He frowns a little.

“Am I what?” Kurt asks lightly, not quite sure where to tread, but forward is the only direction he can go. “Hungry? Because I am, and I believe you promised me the world’s best grilled cheese.”

“Okay?” Blaine finishes instead. “Are you okay?”

Kurt blinks at him, unable to hide his surprise at the question, because they’d only been apart a few minutes, and the past few hours had been nothing but wonderful. New and awkward enough for them both to laugh more than once, almost unbearably intense and intimate for quite a lot of it, but absolutely wonderful. “Yes. Shouldn’t I be?”

Blaine runs a hand through his hair, and it’s definitely nerves that he’s feeling. Kurt can see them now as clear as day. “Well... I don’t know, I thought - I mean, you seemed... before - but you’re over _there_ , and I - “

“Oh, for heaven’s - “ Kurt pushes away from the door frame. He walks over to stand right in front of Blaine, cups Blaine’s face with his hand, and smiles fondly into his eyes. “I was just looking at you.”

“Oh.” Blaine laughs and ducks his head, bashful, but he rests a hand on Kurt’s waist as he does it. He’d held Kurt there earlier far more tightly, pulling him on top and keeping him close as they rocked together, and Kurt’s heart pounds at the inconveniently timed flash of memory. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry,” Kurt tells him; he hopes he doesn’t sound as breathless as he feels. “I’m not sorry for any of it.”

Blaine’s eyes flash up to his. “That’s not what I meant. I’m not, either. I just wasn’t sure if you - “

Kurt cuts him off with a kiss. He means it to be soft and quick in reassurance, but apparently kissing will never be the same, either, and he finds himself urging Blaine’s mouth open so he can taste him, because soft and quick isn’t enough when there’s so much more he can have. Blaine makes a sound low in his throat as his hands flex on Kurt’s hips, and now that Kurt knows exactly how husky Blaine’s voice can get he chases that sound, too.

Blaine’s arms come up around him, tight around his back, and Kurt kisses him harder. He can feel the prickle of arousal, of course he can, because he’s kissing Blaine, but it’s way bigger than that. They’ve taken this next step together, and it’s not just his body that has experienced it, but also his heart. It’s like every cliche about awakening or floodgates opening is true; his heart feels ten times larger and more alive than it did this afternoon, and yet it’s still overflowing. He’s more grateful than he can put words to that he has Blaine, that he has his love, that he has his friendship, because the only thing more important than what they’ve done tonight is that they’ve done it _together_.

Kurt hugs Blaine hard, pressing his cheek against Blaine’s and murmuring into his ear. “This was worth waiting for,” he says. “You were.”

Blaine chokes back another sound, and he nods. “So were you,” he says, his voice rough. “Kurt, I - “ He can’t seem to get the words out, and his hands fist in Kurt’s shirt.

“I love you, too,” Kurt tells him, and Blaine nods again. The way he’s holding Kurt makes it hard to draw a full breath, but Kurt doesn’t mind in the least. It does make him worry a little, though, because it isn’t often that Blaine lets himself show just how insecure he really is. “Are _you_ okay?” he asks softly, stroking his fingers through the back of Blaine’s hair.

“Yes,” Blaine says. “Of course I am.” He lifts his head and looks Kurt in the eyes again as Kurt keeps petting his hair. It’s partially to be soothing but mostly because it feels really nice to be touching him. “You’re just _amazing_ , Kurt.” He sounds like he’s bowled over by it. By him.

Kurt finds himself blushing, partially because earlier that evening when Blaine called him amazing Blaine’s mouth had been hot at his throat and his hand had been slipping inside Kurt’s jeans, and Kurt just doesn’t know how he’s going to get through the rest of his life if such mundane words now hold these new meanings.

“You are,” Blaine insists. His eyes are deep and soft, and the love in them goes on forever.

“Well,” Kurt says, and he knows he looks flustered, but he can’t help it. “So are you.”

Blaine’s smile shines brightly, and he presses a kiss against the corner of Kurt’s mouth, nuzzling his nose against Kurt’s cheek before he draws back. The gentleness of the caress is almost more meaningful than the actual words; Kurt treasures every single soft word Blaine has ever said to him, but the _love_ in the way Blaine touches and looks at him takes Kurt’s breath away. Blaine’s not always careful (Kurt has a red mark in the shape of Blaine’s mouth on his chest to prove it), but he’s always filled with emotion. Maybe other people can lie with their bodies, but Blaine can’t, not when it’s the two of them.

And Kurt knows from the way Blaine’s eyes had crinkled with happiness as he traced the line of Kurt’s nose as they lay in each other’s arms hours ago just as much as the way Blaine’s breath had caught and held at the first slide of his hand along Kurt’s bare leg that Blaine _loves_ him. Blaine adores him. Blaine isn’t going to hold back anything from him, not if Kurt wants it. It’s an incredible, precious gift, and Kurt hadn’t known joy could be so sharp it threatened to hurt.

Blaine takes a deep breath, and he loosens his grip enough to shift back a little. He’s still smiling, even if it’s wavering with heightened emotion around the edges, and he says, “And I believe I promised you grilled cheese.”

“Not just grilled cheese. The world’s _best_ ,” Kurt corrects him with a grin, and he gets another squeeze in response before Blaine pulls away.

Kurt follows him back toward the refrigerator, since it seems wrong to be far apart if they can be closer; it irks him a little that he’s drawn to Blaine like a magnet when he’s so used to standing on his own, but he supposes it’s only a natural progression from how he felt even this evening in the auditorium, when he’d been hurt and confused and had still sought out Blaine, because being hurt with him was better than being hurt without. But now it’s more, that not being close enough to touch seems too far away, that being out of arm’s reach means being out of the range of comfort, and as happy as Kurt is, as content and sure of himself and what they did as he is, Kurt still wants to be next to him. He kind of has to be. He doesn’t like how needy he feels, but he is feeling a lot of new things, and this isn’t the time to fight them.

“The secret is the right mix of cheeses,” Blaine tells him, rifling through wax paper-wrapped packets in one of the clear drawers.

“Which is?” Kurt asks, leaning his hip on the granite countertop beside the refrigerator. It’s cold and unyielding, nothing like the way Blaine had felt against him tonight.

Blaine pulls out three packages and holds them behind his back. “What part of the word secret do you not understand?” he says, shaking his head. He goes over to the breadbox on the counter, Kurt trailing behind, and pulls out a loaf of bread.

“I’m going to be able to tell what they are when you unwrap the cheeses,” Kurt says.

“Then we’ll have to make sure you’re otherwise occupied while I’m putting the sandwiches together.”

Kurt huffs out a laugh and crosses his arms over his chest. Blaine retreats to a strip of counter on the far side of the kitchen island, and Kurt lets him, though he’s too far for Kurt’s comfort. He tells himself to get over it; it’s only a temporary parting. He doesn’t want to think about what it will feel like when he has to go home.

“What can I do?” he asks, because he can’t start thinking about that. He can’t start to imagine what it will feel like to leave, to drive in his car alone with his mouth still swollen and his arms empty, to have to pull himself back together into something other people are used to him being, if he even can. He’s not ready for that yet.

“Well...” Blaine looks over at him, his eyes hopeful. “I think there’s some Dutch-process cocoa in the spice cabinet...”

Kurt smiles. He’d tried teaching Blaine to make his special hot chocolate from scratch, and Blane had been unable to keep the milk from scorching on the heat. “All right.”

So he gets out the ingredients and puts the milk on to warm in a saucepan next to Blaine’s cast iron griddle on the cooktop. He stands and stirs, focusing on the bubbles forming along the edges of the pot instead of Blaine’s hands as he spreads butter on the outer sides of the bread; those he watches from the corner of his eye and tries not to think about how the rough pads of Blaine’s calloused fingers feel on his face. He also identifies two of the three cheeses (muenster and swiss) by sight.

Blaine puts two sandwiches on the griddle and slides up behind Kurt, slipping his arms around Kurt’s waist and setting his chin on Kurt’s shoulder. The world expands and contracts like a breath, focusing in like a telephoto lens, and the tension Kurt didn’t even know he was feeling melts away.

This is right. Whether he knows it or not, this is what he wants, and he wants it _so badly_ it hurts in the best way to have it.

Blaine has hugged him hundreds of times. He’s watched Kurt cook from this very position more times than Kurt would like, because it hampers his movements and makes quick rescues of sauces difficult. It shouldn’t make him feel something new, and yet it does. The warmth of Blaine’s chest against his back makes him feel safe. The sound of Blaine’s breath in his ear makes the hair on the backs of his arms stand on end with new memories. The circle of Blaine’s arms around his waist makes him feel connected, like they’re a unit instead of two individual people.

The tips of Blaine’s fingers rub a gentle circle on Kurt’s stomach above the waistband of his jeans, and that’s definitely new, too. It’s a liberty Blaine wouldn’t have taken before tonight. It’s wonderful, though. It’s totally wonderful. It’s arousing in an abstract way, but even more it’s comforting, because it’s not _meant_ to be arousing. Blaine’s looking over at his sandwiches, half-distracted by them, and just touching Kurt because he wants to be touching him. Maybe he needs to be, just as much as Kurt needs to be touching him.

Kurt’s chest constricts, and he swallows as he looks back down at his milk. He’s okay, he’s great, in fact, and he’s not going to freak Blaine out by getting emotional.

Because as much as he enjoyed the physical side of their evening - and enjoyed seems like such a weak way to describe how incredible every touch had made him feel, how loved and loving - a part of him can’t believe that he gets to have it. He gets to have Blaine. He gets to have _this_ with _Blaine_. And it’s _amazing_.

It feels right. There’s nothing about it that doesn’t feel right, even the noises he’d made that ought to embarrass him with their neediness, except that he meant them and will mean them again every time Blaine touches him. Besides, Blaine had responded in kind, and if Kurt treasures every one of Blaine’s gasps and groans for what they’d meant about _Kurt_ then there’s no way in the world he would hold back his own.

Kurt hadn’t known his body could work so well with someone else’s. He hadn’t known he could _respond_ so well to someone else. He hadn’t known that touching and being touched by someone you love and who loves you could make every new inch of skin explored that much more sensitive. And somehow, now that he’s felt that way, he’s still that sensitive. The potholder feels rougher in his hand. The floor is colder beneath his feet. Blaine is warmer and firmer against his back. He doesn’t know whether to be overwhelmed or to drink it all in. He thinks, probably, the answer is to do both.

“Hmm,” Blaine mutters to himself, lifting the edge of the sandwich with his spatula. “Time to flip.” He steps to the side to turn the sandwiches over, and Kurt takes a shuddering breath at his absence.

“Okay?” Blaine asks, looking over at him.

Kurt looks back, and Blaine reaches out his free hand to tangle his fingers with Kurt’s. He’s barefoot and bare-armed, curly-haired, and there’s the hint of a red mark on his throat, a mark that _Kurt_ had left there. His clothes are rumpled, his posture is loose and easy, and his eyes are intent on Kurt’s and full of contentment. He’s beautiful. He’s happy, and he’s happy because Kurt made him happy, not just because of what they did but because of what they _have_. What they’ve built the two of them, together.

“Yes,” Kurt says with a smile, the love in his chest expanding that much more. “I really am.”


End file.
